Some Things Are Just Meant To Be

The rain hammered against the window, mirroring the frantic beat of my heart as my mother clutched her chest, her breathing shallow.

I called 911, but the streets were flooded, and the ambulance was delayed.

Desperate, I called my wife, Sarah. Her voice, bright and cheerful over the noisy clatter of plates and loud music, promised to hurry, to be right there.

She never came.

An hour later, the paramedics arrived, their grim faces confirming what I already knew. She was gone.